Big Sky Country
by Arches67
Summary: (Person of Interest / Longmire crossover) When Samaritan goes online and Team Machine into hiding, John decides to take a break outside New York and visit an old friend.
1. Chapter 1

Crossover between Person of Interest (right at the end of season 3) and Longmire. Unlikely? Yeah, probably…

_AN:_ I thought it would be fun to have John and Walt together, seeing them as the silent type. Except, that what I actually enjoy is writing dialogue! Should have thought about that before I started… Turned out to be a bit complicated. A huge thank you to Yellowstone69 who helped me get back on track, suggested directions, read the story (in English, poor her). I wouldn't have made it without you! Thank you so much.

This is my first Longmire fiction. So please forgive any discrepancies.

As always, English still not my first language. This has not been beta'd. Actually looking for a beta (yeah, this is an offer or call for help, whatever…). So any mistakes, let me know, I'll correct.

* * *

_"Welcome to Durant – Absaroka County"_

John Reese couldn't help a relieved sigh. Even though he knew he was on the right road, the last miles had seemed to stretch on forever, almost having him think he had somehow missed a turn somewhere. Slowing down the car slightly he couldn't help an amused smile as he drove past the sign.

The old gunshot on the right corner was still there. No one had bothered to have the sign replaced… Not that bullet holes on road signs were rare in the area. Hunters –and young fool heads– made it a game to practice shooting on those. The top right hole was his, some… far too long ago to remember.

After Samaritan had gone on line and the Machine had given them new identities, after parting ways with his employer and friends, John had decided to leave New York until the dust settled somewhat. Forced to leave the loft for obvious security reasons, he had "borrowed" a car and taken the long road to Wyoming. Mark Snow knew him well; Montana wasn't that far away…

He had driven the 2000 miles only stopping for gas, coffee and an occasional nap. The stress of the last months had kept the adrenaline high, but weariness had caught up a few hours ago. He was beyond tired, only wishing for a shower and a bed, not necessarily in that order.

He parked the car on the main square. The old hotel was still there. For that matter, so was the sheriff's office. Walt would have his hide if he learned that John had gone straight to his bed without stopping by first.

Walter Longmire, sheriff of Durant, was a longtime friend, back to a life when skies were blue and days full of fun.

He entered the building, going up the stairs, knowing the way to the sheriff's office back from times when Walt wasn't the boss there. He pushed the door open. Nothing had changed much, newer computers maybe, and a female deputy. Ruby raised her head when she heard the door open and her jaw dropped to her desk.

"Hi Ruby," John said and nodded his greetings to the blonde sitting behind a desk.

Ruby moved her lips but no sound came out. The door to the sheriff's office was open, and the floor creaked as its occupant moved.

"John." Walt greeted John casually leaning against the doorjamb, as if they had seen each other just a few hours ago, not some ten years back.

"Walt." John lifted a corner of his mouth, in a half smile.

After a few seconds of silence, Walt made a gesture with his hand, inviting him to his office and closing the door behind their backs.

Ruby was still looking at the closed door.

"Who was that?" Vic asked, feeling that something had just happened.

She rose to get Ruby a glass of water. She had never seen the older woman that dumbstruck.

"Ruby, are you alright?" she asked gently as she gave her the glass of water. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Ruby seemed to finally come out of her shock. "Sort of," she whispered.

John let himself drop on the chair by the window while Walt opened a drawer to get a bottle and glasses. He poured whisky generously and handed John a glass.

"I was told you were dead," he simply said, in a slightly reproachful tone.

"Yeah, rumor has it," John answered with an apologetic shrug.

Both men lifted their glass in a toast and savored their drinks in silence. It was one of their traits that used to drive Ruby crazy: none was the talkative kind. She had been known to complain it was easier to get blood out of a chair than words out of them.

"You staying for long?" Walt finally asked.

"Few days," John answered.

Swirling the drink in his glass, his memory drifted back to the day he had met Walt for the first time.

_2014 – 2013 – 2010 – 2000 – 1990 – 1985 – 1982 – 1980 - 1979_

_As most summers, John was spending the holidays at his grandfather's farm in Wyoming. The old man wasn't very strict on rules, and as long as he was home for meals and back before 9 pm, the youngster was left to his own devices._

_That day, he had been fishing by the river when a flash of yellow light in the water had attracted him. Having heard his grandpa's stories about gold diggers since he was born, he had jumped in the river not believing his luck. But the river was deeper than he had expected and the current quite swift. In no time, the rush of water was taking him downstream and all he could do was try to get his head out of the water to catch some air from time to time._

_"Catch the rope!" a voice yelled from the bank._

_Fighting the current, he had managed to get his head out and extend a hand to get the loop of the perfectly aimed lasso. The pull of the rope almost dislocated his shoulder but he didn't let go. Soon he could feel his body being slowly pulled to the shore. Two pairs of arms grabbed him and helped him out to the ground where he fell on his knees coughing and spitting water._

_"Thanks," he managed to sputter between two coughing fits._

_"Breathe kid, you'll thank us later," said the voice, gently rubbing a hand on his back._

_1979 – 1990 – 2010 – 2014_

It had been the beginning of an undying friendship. Walter Longmire and Henry Standing Bear had remained the only unmoving foundation of his life, whatever life had thrown at them or despite the years they had been apart. No matter how long they didn't talk or see each other, he knew he would always be welcomed, that the friendship would be unchanged.

The last time he had seen Walt had been right before starting his work for the CIA. Before his life had turned to black, before he had crossed the line. And even before that, he had rarely had the time to see him in between tours for the army. Some phone calls, a letter before e-mails put an end to real paper.

When the Machine had given them their new lives and urged them to disappear for a few weeks, coming back to Durant had seemed like a logical decision. He also knew that Walt wouldn't ask questions. The man had his own demons, his own dark secrets; he wouldn't expect John to share things with him.

"Where are you staying?"

"Nowhere yet, just got here. Figured you'd throw me in jail if I didn't visit you first," John answered with a light smile. "I'll get a room at Suzie's hotel."

"Suzie sold the hotel. Why don't you crash at my place?"

"You finally got your log house in the valley?"

Walt smiled. Henry would probably argue as to whether it was really a house versus just a roof and walls, but it served its purpose. When they were kids, dreaming up what their house would look like and where it would be had been a topic of quite a few nights around the fire.

He watched his friend. John's eyes were drooping.

"John, you look dead on your feet. How long have you been driving?"

"Long enough."

Walt rose from his chair and grabbed his hat.

"Come on let's go. Leave your car; I don't want to peel you from a tree."

The ex-agent didn't have the strength to protest, and followed the sheriff to the car after grabbing a duffle bag in his trunk. John leaned back with a sigh.

Walter cast an amused glance to John as he turned the ignition on.

"Let's get you into a bed before you fall asleep. I'm not carrying you and it is too cold to sleep in the car."

"So you finally got to build your house in the valley?"

"Yeah…" Walt sighed.

"Sorry I couldn't make it to the funeral…"

Silence stretched. John had been there for the wedding. He had never seen Walt so happy. And although he didn't get to see his friend as often as he would have liked; he had kept tabs. Being the sheriff made him a public figure; finding information about his life was easy.

"I didn't work much on the house after… she passed." Walt winced slightly. "Henry keeps pestering at me for delaying."

Once they got to the log cabin, they never had time to discuss. John crashed on the couch, falling asleep with all his clothes on. Walt chuckled, removed his shoes and covered him with a blanket.

* * *

John hadn't moved an inch the following morning when Walt got up and started the coffee. He stirred, pushing the blanket off and trying to clear his brain. He barely remembered getting out of the car. Falling dead asleep like he had was unheard off; if he needed proof that he felt safe in this place…

"Look what the cat dragged in," Henry said from the door step.

"Walt, there's an Indian on your doorstep. Where's the gun?" John asked rising from the couch.

Henry shook his head at the old joke.

After he and Walt had gotten John from the water, they had sat down for a while, letting him get over his fright and close call with death. They had introduced themselves, then John had looked at Henry wide eyed "you're an Indian". Walt had frowned in disapproval at the comment, but Henry had raised an eyebrow waiting for the rest of the sentence. "Which tribe are you? Could you show me the rez?" The innocent curiosity had led to thousands of questions. By the time, the young John was done, Henry had turned to Walt and asked him if he could just shoot him and put an end to his misery.

He came forward engulfing the younger man in a bear hug. John returned the greeting warmly, glad to see his friend.

"Standing Bear, still visiting the resident grouch?" he asked in an amused voice.

"Someone has to look out for the elders," Henry answered.

"Kid, don't listen to him. He can't wait to be allowed on the Tribe's elders council."

John couldn't help a chuckle. Trust Walt to keep calling him kid even after all those years.

"How did you know I was here?" John asked.

Henry looked at him as if he had gone suddenly mad.

"This is Durant, not… Where the hell do you live now anyway?"

Small towns… Of course. By now, most of the city probably knew that Gordon's grandson was around. Who needed an omniscient machine when you had town gossip?

Henry brought in a paper bag with supplies.

"Brought stuff for breakfast. Do not count on Walt to feed you," the Native American joked making himself at home in the kitchen. "Go grab a shower while I cook."

Feeling half human again after the shower, Reese listened to his friends as they told him about what had happened in the town during the last years. Apparently, crime and secrecy were also part of small counties. He had thought that a few days out of New York would bring him some sort of peace, away from conspiracies, but trouble seemed to have reached even into the deep country.

John watched Walt and Henry interact. He could tell they were keeping things from him, but he didn't ask. If they didn't want to share, they had probably their reasons. They were friends before they even met him, they lived in the same town; they had been in the army together; they were bound to have deep bonds and secrets.

The three men were nursing a last cup of coffee in silence.

"So, are you going to tell us where you have been?" Henry finally asked. "Last we heard of you, you had left the army, right?"

"Yeah," John mumbled in a dark tone.

Silence stretched.

Henry finally burst out laughing.

"You have not changed one bit! I had almost forgotten why you used to drive me crazy. Getting words out of both of you is more difficult than solving the Native Americans problem."

Walt and John exchanged a glance and a small smile.

"So, you have plans for your visit?"

John looked out the window. The sky was bright blue and the trees seemed to reach up to the sun. He was suddenly startled by the silence. He wanted out. Fishing was not really an option and he wasn't fond of hunting, but just hiking sounded like a good idea.

He rose and went to the porch. The ground was partly frozen, the night had been cold, and even though the sun shone brightly, it didn't really provide much heat. A beautiful winter day in the mountains.

"Is the cave still reachable?" he asked turning to Walter.

"Oh God… I haven't been up there in years."

_2014 – 2013 – 2010 – 2000 – 1990 – 1985 – 1982 – 1980_

_The age difference had never been a problem. John was tall for his age, and smart. He was the quiet type, listening to his older friends and always eager to follow in their footsteps._

_The three young men were in a cave, sitting around an open fire. Henry was chanting an old Indian song._

_"We'll always be friends_

_"We'll always protect each other_

_"We'll always keep the secrets_

_"We'll never be apart_

_"Until the end of times, our souls will be bound as one_

_Swiftly cutting their wrists, they had performed a blood pact, smiles huge on their innocent faces._

_1980 – 1990 – 2010 – 2014_

John absently rubbed the tiny scar. It was barely visible after so many years, a very light line on the inside of his arm.

Walt saw the gesture and smiled. Those days were so long ago it almost seemed like a dream.

"Check the closet, there should be hiking shoes your size."

Henry took his coat to leave.

"Gentlemen, I would love to go out and run free, but I _do_ have a bar to run. I will see you guys later."

"Good to see you Henry."

"We'll come have a drink," Walt said.

"Bar?" John asked turning to Walt.

"The Red Pony, makes the best hamburgers in the county." Walt shook his head. "You've been gone too long, kid."

John winced. He wondered if he could tell Walt the reason why…

* * *

Wearing thick coats and gloves –John had borrowed his friend some clothes– the two men went out the trail to reach their youth hiding place. They had spent hours in the cave, sharing secrets, making plans for the future, confessing to their first kiss… They felt safe there, a place where no harm could ever reach them.

The exercise felt nice, as the sharp crisp mountain air. Puffs of smoke escaped their mouths as the ground became more uneven and led them higher up.

Two hours later they reached the cave. John bent at the entrance, looking inside.

"This is it? I remember it bigger," John mused looking around.

The mountain had changed, trees were taller, the trail was different. He probably wouldn't have found the way on his own.

"_You_ were smaller," Walt chuckled.

John shrugged and sat on a rock, watching over the valley. The point of view was breathtaking. Up there, alone, as kids they felt as if they ruled over the world. He knew now that no one ruled the world, except for AI machines, but the feeling was still there. Far away from the world, as if nothing could reach them.

"Jessica is dead," he said suddenly.

"Oh," Walt exclaimed and sat down too. "I'm sorry."

The sheriff sighed in sadness. He could relate to the pain his friend was experiencing.

He could still see John's face during one of his lasts visits. The man glowed. He remembered watching him getting out of his car. His greeting had been "what's her name?" and he had burst out laughing when John had tried to go for an innocent face and pretend not knowing what he was talking about. But when he did start talking there was no stopping him. John had talked more in that single evening than in all his life. The last beers had probably helped, but the words of love kept pouring as the water in the river.

Silence settled between them, as both men grieved together.

"It was my fault. I let her go. She told me to ask her to stay, but I wasn't brave enough…" his voice faltered, the old pain still as vivid as the first day.

"What happened?" Walter asked softly.

"Her husband killed her," John hissed, clenching his jaw. If he could somehow kill the man again he would.

"Then how on earth is it your fault?"

"She called me but I didn't get to her in time."

Of course, being sent all the way to China to be assassinated kind of explained why, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he should have been there for her. And he was the one that had kept his mouth shut in an airport that fateful day…

Walt watched the eyes mist in pain. He gently squeezed the man's shoulder. No words existed that could ease the memories. He just let the man know he was there to listen if he wanted to talk. After a while, John turned his face to him, his lips lifting in a small smile.

"I had forgotten how peaceful it was up here."

"Yeah..." Walt cast a glance to the sky. "Might wanna head down though. It's going to snow."

"Snow?" John looked at the blue sky.

"Forgot how quickly the weather changes in here?" Walt asked pointing to the horizon and some looming clouds.

It turned out to change even more quickly than Walter had anticipated. Halfway back, big thick snowflakes started to fall, but John couldn't begin to care. It was beautiful. Snow in New York was always a pain. Biting wind, slush in the streets, cold seeping under the clothes, even the Library felt cold despite the heating blasting at his maximum. But here he could see each snow flake, catching them in his hand before they melted away.

"Let's hurry up a bit," Walt advised as he stepped on a wooden bridge.

There was an ominous crack as the plank under John's feet gave. He let out a strangled scream of surprise, then his breath was effectively cut as he fell into the freezing water. The swift current and the weight of his heavy coat whisked him away from the bridge, rushing him down the river.

Walter stood frozen for a second as he saw the body disappear; he rushed across the bridge to get on the shore and try to catch up on his friend.

"We really need to keep you away from rivers," he muttered as he saw the body tumbling down the river.

Burdened by the weight of his water sodden coat, John felt like he was eleven again, not even able to fight against the current but just trying to keep his head above water. The cold was seeping in fast too. The current curved around a bend and threw him against some branches in the water. He managed to grasp one with a grunt and almost let go when he choked on the water that had entered his mouth. He coughed the water out while holding on with all the strength he could summon. The current kept pushing on his body making it impossible to get any leverage on his hands. The water hit against the branches and bounced back against his face. He couldn't feel his gloved hands anymore; he felt his hands slide and his body was pushed once more by the current.

His body kept going down; suddenly a thick log hit his ribs harshly. He screamed in pain as he felt some snap, then folded over the dead tree. Pulling strength from some unknown reserve in his body, he managed to pull a leg up and straddle the tree. More than of his body was still under water but the current actually kept him in place. He coughed water, panting and trying to get his breath back.

Pushed against the log by the current, held in place by the tree underneath his body, he couldn't move. An oddly detached part of his mind wondered at the fact that he was going to die in a river. Not from the guns of some mafia men, or the conspiracy of a demented secret group, but because he had fallen off a bridge.

He had almost drowned once, in this same river, as a kid. Walt and Henry had been there that time. But they weren't around today. Sure Walter would get to him, but given the speed he had gone down the current, it would take time before he got to him. He'd be dead before. The water was freezing, the current adding to the chill, he wouldn't survive more than twenty minutes.

At least, he'd get a nice funeral. He sobbed a laugh. Yes, with his real name on the tombstone. Walter was actually one of the only few people who knew his real name. Probably didn't even know about Reese… He had always thought he would end up in an unnamed tomb. It was nice to know that he would get a marker. Maybe Finch would locate him and come to visit.

He smiled, at least in his head. Maybe Finch could go on with the new life the Machine had given him, safe from the crutches of Samaritan. Far from an ideal life, probably, but at least alive, and away from danger. It had been nice while it lasted. Those lives he saved barely making it up for the ones he had taken, but in the ultimate balance of right and wrong, a little tip in the right direction.

His mind drifted, losing track of time. He watched the snowflakes settle on his hand, not melting anymore, pilling one by one. It was fascinating to see them stick, thickening the layer above his glove. He focused on moving a finger but the order never reached his hand.

Cold. He wasn't shivering anymore. A rational part of his mind knew it was bad, but he couldn't manage to care. Sleeping sounded nice, just a little nap to forget the bone crushing cold.

"Thank you Finch. I'm sorry…" he whispered.

The cold disappeared as darkness engulfed him.

* * *

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

Walter ran down the bank trying not to lose sight of the body as it was rushed downstream. His feet kept sliding in the snow and the uneven ground bordering the creek. For the first time in his life he regretted not having a phone.

He went around rocks and bushes blocking the path. By the time he managed to get a view of the river again, he couldn't see John anymore.

"Damn!" he yelled, starting to run forward.

He stumbled over dead branches and groaned in frustration. He was too old for this. He rose and pushed on his feet, his eyes scanning the water. He sighed when he saw John holding some branches, then suddenly his body disappeared under water again.

"Noooo!"

Pushing the bushes around him, not caring that he kept getting his feet caught, Walter ran on following the body. A bigger root sent him crashing to the ground when his boot was trapped. He got to his knees, arms on the ground, breathing hard to catch his breath. He didn't even feel the cold anymore. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down. Freaking out wasn't going to help. John was strong; he had been in the army. He would be able to fight the river and hang on to something. He just needed help to get to him before the man froze to death.

Sitting back on his heels, Walter saw the wolf. It was almost full white, watching him from a distance.

"Help me," Walter whispered to him.

His friendship with Henry and the Native Americans had opened his mind to the mystical world. He didn't know if this wolf would help him or was just waiting for him to be too weak to fight back, but if there was a chance that some spirit watched over him, he would take all the help he could get.

"Please, help him," he repeated watching the wolf's eyes.

The big animal blinked, then turned around. Walter sighed, got to his feet and started his mad run down the river again.

* * *

On the parking lot of the Red Pony, a big white wolf appeared, looking straight at Henry who was loading crates. It howled once, then turned around, going back to the trees. Henry was familiar with the spirit world. It shaped his culture, and if he mostly lived like the "white" people, turning his back on beliefs wasn't an option. This wasn't just a stray wolf.

It had gone toward the creek that bordered the prairie around Walter's house. The direction it had taken wasn't accidental.

"Walter Longmire, what did you get yourself into?" Henry muttered, jumping in his car to drive toward the river.

He cast a glance to his watch. By now both men had probably turned around from their walk to the cave. With the snow coming down, the trail was bound to be slippery.

The bridge! Henry was suddenly convinced that one of the men had fallen in the water. He accelerated toward the trail that followed the creek further down from the way to Walter's house.

After its mad rush the river widened slightly in the valley. The current was still strong, melted snow always feeding it, but if there was one place where they stood a chance to spot a body it was there. Revving the car, Henry soon reached the trail along the creek. He switched to four wheel drive and turned left, praying that he was downstream from the body.

He slammed the brakes when he saw the dark shape over a dead tree in the water. He grabbed a rope in the back of his car and went toward the log. He sighed when he recognized the man.

"Way to greet you back, John," he mumbled.

"John!" he shouted, hoping against all odds that the man could hear him.

Shaking his head, he tied the rope to a tree, then to himself, and stepped into the water. He yelled at the freezing water.

"Oh shit! Could not have come to visit in the summer, right?" he screamed to overcome the cold.

Crawling over the tree, he soon reached John. He put a hand to his neck and was struck that the skin felt even colder than his own hand. He could feel the pulse, way too weak, but there. He looked around, wondering how he would manage to get him to the shore. He pulled on the jacket hoping to slide him toward him, but the body didn't move. He would need to get him back in the water but chances were the current would drive them both away.

He pulled on the rope, sliding it to loosen the loop around his waist and have enough length to tie it around John. The cold was getting to him, numbing his hand and making it difficult to move. He finally managed to get the rope securely around John and was about to push in the water when he felt a tug in his back.

He turned to see Walter on the shore, holding the rope.

"About time!" Henry shot to him. "Pull us out!"

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed John and jumped in the water. He gasped as his body went under the freezing water. Holding John's head out of the water as much as he could, he felt the rope drawing him back to the shore.

After what felt like hours, he finally felt the ground under his body. Walter got into the water and caught John's unmoving body. Henry turned to his knees, panting, not finding the strength yet to rise.

"Henry?" Walter called.

"Fine. Just let me get my breath back," the shorter man gasped.

Holding him by his arm pits, Walter pulled John's body out of the water grunting. His friend was heavy and the drenched coat didn't help. Henry finally made it to his feet. He was shivering, teeth shattering.

"Let's get…" A strong shiver racked his body and he stumbled.

They carried the body to the car and Walter sat behind the wheel. He turned the heating on, blasting it at the maximum and drove along the trail. It didn't go all the way to his place, but the four-wheeler would be able to drive on the field for the last part. He was driving far too fast, taxing the mufflers and turning the ride in a rodeo bounce.

"If you kill us on the way… it will not help," Henry managed to say, his hands above the vents trying to get the feeling back.

They finally made it to the house. Henry was still shivering but he could feel his hands again, they were actually burning as the blood flooded back. Getting John's arms over their shoulders, they dragged him to the house, lying him down on the floor.

"I'll get the fire. Get off your clothes, grab stuff in my closet."

"John…" Henry protested.

"… can wait a few minutes. I need you to help me, which you won't if you don't warm up."

By the time Henry came back with dry clothes on, Walter had the fire going and had also changed to dry pants and warm socks. Their friend groaned and Walter knelt by his side.

"John?"

Undressing an unresponsive man in drenched clothes was a tedious shore. The ex-agent fought back, battling their hands away. Walter had a relieved sigh. Unconscious and not shivering was severe hypothermia. Now apparently John was slightly conscious if not coherent. They had good chances to get him to warm up with no major risks.

Walter watched the body, but the cold had effectively prevented any swelling so it was difficult to tell if there were any injuries. A red mark on the chest hinted at damaged ribs, and broken skin on his ankle showed were his foot had broken the bridge's wooden planks.

They wrapped him in a blanket and laid him in the couch, then pushed it closer to the fire.

"Want to put him in a bathtub?" Henry asked, wrapping his arms around his body.

"No, he needs to warm up slowly. The hot water would do more damage at this point."

Walter moved to his closet and brought more blankets. For once he was glad Martha had always felt chilly as he found the water bottles stored away on a shelf. He filled them with warm water and tucked them under the armpits and, covering John for modesty with a towel, added one on his groin. Soon the ex-agent looked like a mummy. With a smile he wrapped a comforter around Henry's shoulder.

"Sit by the fire, I'll make coffee."

"Soup. I want soup," Henry asked still having occasional shivers.

A while later, both men were holding warm cups, sitting in front of the fire place.

"What happened?"

"Rock's bridge. A plank broke and John went right through it." Walter watched John and shivered. "I thought I'd never get to him in time."

Silence stretched as the heat filled the room and they started to feel more comfortable. Walter raised his head suddenly.

"How did you get there?" he exclaimed dumbfounded.

Henry frowned and remained silent. Following the spirit world was usually a personal experience that you didn't necessarily share. He knew Walter would understand and accept it; it was still always difficult to admit it out loud.

"The wolf came," he whispered.

"Big. White coat?"

Henry nodded, not really surprised. He rubbed the edge of the cup with a finger distractedly.

"I have always been convinced that John's spirit protector was a wolf…"

"You never told us about that."

"No. I figured he would need to find out by himself."

"Loner, fiercely protective of his own, deadly… I can see the connection," Walt commented.

John started mumbling and moving. Walt put a hand to his face, the only part of the body not covered. It was still quite cold. He was worried that John wasn't shivering yet. His body was still irresponsive. They couldn't do anything but wait.

"Henry, why don't you go lie down on my bed for a while," he said when he saw the Indian's eyes drooping.

Henry opened his mouth to protest, but Walt cut him.

"Go, I'll keep an eye on John. I don't think we'll need to get him to a hospital."

His friend nodded and shuffled to the room, still hugging the comforter tightly.

* * *

Walt watched over his friend, wondering at the mumbled words and what they meant. John seemed more and more restless, proof that he was getting near consciousness.

John woke up when his body started shivering. He groaned as he curled up in a ball.

"Look who's awake," Walter exclaimed with a smile.

Shivering and awake were good. John was definitely out of the woods now. Of course, he could still get down with a cold, but considering he had reached stage 3 of hypothermia, even pneumonia would still be on the bright side.

He brought a mug of warm soup.

"Here drink this; it will help."

John moved and frowned reaching down his body. His hand came back with a water bottle. He dropped it on the floor and reached for the other ones.

"Overdoing it much, Walt?" The scowl was lost as his teeth shattered.

Walter chuckled. "You know, these parts of the country, we always go for big."

John tried to sit up and gasped his hand reaching for his ribs.

"That would be broken ribs. Couldn't be sure before, you were blue." He helped him sit, making sure the blankets still covered him as much as possible, and forced the mug in the shaking hands.

"Drink."

The warm cup felt wonderful to his hands and John inhaled the cup with bliss. He drank the soup, feeling the warmth spread in his body. Walter came back with John's duffle bag.

"You can have a hot shower now and dress. Then maybe you can tell me where you got some of those scars…" The tone indicated it wasn't much of an option.

Since he had saved his life, Walter had always felt quite protective of John, making it a personal responsibility to ensure his welfare. He hadn't seen him naked in years, not since they used to go swimming in the river. The extent of injuries over the body was unsettling. And the army definitely didn't explain it all…

John winced and slowly got up. The hot water helped even if he still felt the cold deep in his bones. He came back to the living room. Walter had folded up the blankets and handed him another mug.

"More soup?" John asked wrapping his hands around the cup.

"You need warm fluids and coffee is not really recommended."

John nodded, knowing his friend was right; he knew how to treat hypothermia. Tomato soup was fine. Actually, anything warm would do. He'd even settle for hot water at this point. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulder and tried to find a position that didn't hurt his ribs.

"What happened?" he asked softly blowing the cup.

Walter raised his head sharply with a worried face. "You don't remember?"

He hadn't noticed any bumps in the head. John smiled.

"No, I remember the fall, _vividly_. I remember the first branches I managed to grab and had to let go. It gets fuzzy after I got on the log."

He frowned. He remembered watching the snow pile on his hand and a headstone with his name on it.

"We got your sorry ass off the river… again!" Henry exclaimed from the door. "You should consider avoiding them, you know."

"How long have I been in the water?" John asked with a frown, surprised by Henry's presence.

Henry wasn't with them and he knew for a fact that Walt didn't have a mobile. How did he manage to let his friend know that they were in trouble?

Henry and Walter exchanged a glance and the Native American came to sit down in the reclining chair.

"You should stop doing that, it's upsetting," John told them.

"Doing what?"

"Talking to each other with your eyes."

"See how frustrating it gets when people do not talk?" asked Henry with a smile.

"So start talking. How did you get that many scars on your body?" Walt intervened. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about the wolf for now.

"I was a soldier, Walt! So were you and Henry, you know it goes with the job."

Walt shook his head.

"Huh huh. You came to visit after your last tour, before you 'disappeared'. You may not remember but it was hot, you helped me chop wood. You had _one_ scar, on your shoulder. Which I actually thought was pretty lucky considering your career choice."

John winced. Damned Walt, he deserved being the town's sheriff. He missed nothing. He sipped the soup in silence. He certainly didn't want to talk about his time in the CIA, as for his work with Finch…

"Who's Samaritan?" Walt asked.

John raised his face sharply and blanched. He immediately corrected his features but he knew he hadn't been fast enough, caught by surprise and exhausted. Almost drowning and freezing to death took a toll on a body.

Walt sighed in sadness.

"Kid, what did you get yourself into?" he whispered softly.

John raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You kept mumbling about numbers and a Samaritan. You seemed pretty upset. I was wondering how you ended up as a banker or something, but I'm beginning to think that I'm way off."

The Machine wasn't his secret to tell and as for his time with the CIA, he still hadn't come to terms with the horrors he had committed. He'd probably never be able to talk about that.

Walter knew that prying information out of John was like pulling teeth out, with a fork. He wanted his friend to know he could tell him anything, that he could trust his friends with his secrets. No one deserved to carry such burdens alone. Sharing went both ways; maybe he just needed to nudge him a bit.

"I told everyone my wife died of cancer," he started to say softly. "Very few know the truth. I even told Cady not so long ago. I didn't want anyone to know she had been murdered."

"Oh my God, Walt!" John watched him wide eyed.

"The police couldn't find the man." He glanced at Henry who nodded his agreement. "I represent the law in Durant, and I did the one thing I won't let my fellow citizens do, I did justice myself." He remained silent for a moment, then added, "and I'd probably do it again…"

John watched the bottom of his cup for a while, before starting to speak in his usual soft tones.

"After Jessica died, I killed him. I couldn't let him live. Then… I had lost my job, was reported dead. Might as well have been. I tried to end it by drowning myself in cheap whisky, even went to the river a couple of times. Couldn't jump." He smiled slightly. "You know why? I kept seeing your face. Remembered how you had pulled me out of the water and realized I couldn't do that to you."

He raised his head to watch the two men in front of him.

"Did I ever thank you?"

Henry chuckled. "Every single time you see us."

"It's actually starting to get a little bit embarrassing," Walt added.

John winced.

"Then somebody found me and gave me… a purpose. It'll never undo all the wrong I did, but it helps a little. Some days I am even happy." Or was… With Samaritan online, the happy days were over.

Seeing his face darken, Walter realized they wouldn't be able to get more out of John for now. He couldn't begin to imagine what demons he kept buried. It made his heart ache. No one deserved to carry such pain inside.

The night had fallen, the snow had stopped falling and the full moon made the valley glisten. The view from the house was spectacular.

"You should get some sleep," Walter commented watching John having more and more trouble keeping his eyes open.

His friend nodded and started to make himself comfortable on the couch. Walt couldn't help a laugh.

"John, I know this place is a mess, but I do have a spare room. I know you never made it to it yesterday, but I believe there's a bed with your name on, that way," he added pointing to the back.

With a sheepish grin, John went toward the room. "Thanks, sorry I can't seem to be able to keep my eyes open."

"Well, you did have a long drive from what I gathered." He raised an eyebrow. "You could start answering our questions for a change, you know."

John couldn't help a small smile. "New York. I live in New York."

"See, that did not hurt too much," Henry quipped with a chuckle.

Shaking his head in amusement, John went to get much needed sleep.

Walter turned to Henry.

"Do you mind spending the night on the couch?" he asked his friend.

"No, of course not. You are worried?"

"He's exhausted, he almost drowned, had severe hypothermia. The night might not be peaceful."

"Sure, no problem."

* * *

Unfortunately, Walter's worries turned out to be justified. In the middle of the night, he was woken up by moans and grunts from John's room. He got up and went to check on this friend. The man was restless and entangled in his covers. His face was glistening prompting Walt to check his forehead for a fever. His friend was burning up.

Walter sighed, not surprised by the body's reaction to what he had been submitted to. He pulled on the blankets and yelled in surprise when John grabbed him and pushed him to the ground. Faster than lightning, John was up and fighting him. Giving up on trying to be gentle, Walter fought back trying to wrestle him down. A fist to his cheek almost blacked him out.

"Need help?" Henry asked in an amused tone, then frowned and rushed forward when he saw the way John was fighting.

It took both of them to finally manage to subdue their friend, actually having to knock him out. They looked at each other panting.

"I don't want to know how he fights when he's lucid," Walter commented exhaling deeply.

"What happened?"

"He's burning up. Don't know what demons he was fighting, but damn this kid has issues…"

"You really should stop calling him kid," Henry chuckled, rubbing his shoulder where a fist had almost broken his collarbone.

They left him uncovered and put a wet cloth on his forehead, hoping to get the fever down. John seemed more peaceful and they went back to try to get some much needed sleep.

A couple of hours later, the moans woke Walter again. John was drenched in sweat, this time he didn't fight though and calmed down when Walt put a new fresh washcloth on his forehead. The rest of the night, what was left of it anyway, was uneventful.

* * *

Henry and Walter were having coffee on the porch when John appeared on the doorstep.

"Hey! How are you feeling?" Walt asked.

"Like I've been run over by train… and back."

Walt chuckled. It wasn't sympathetic but he was too glad to see him alive.

John rubbed his head with a frown. He seemed to remember fighting during the night, but it didn't make sense. He knew his nightmares were often quite realistic, and he couldn't remember if the bruises on his knuckles were from his rush down the river the day before.

"Did we… fight?" he asked hesitantly.

"You got a bit delirious during the night."

"You were quite impressive despite your being burning up with fever," Henry added.

John pointed to the shiner on Walt's face.

"That me?" he asked with a guilty wince.

"Where the hell did you learn _that_?"

John raised an innocent eyebrow.

"Kid, I've been in the army too. That's not standard combat training. Those skills are more like…"

Walt's voice trailed as he realized what he was about to say… Remembered how John had disappeared, how he had been reported dead… The whole thing screamed black ops or something along the lines. And the proverbial "If I tell you, then I will need to kill you" probably applied…

"I'm not that kid that almost drowned in the river anymore, Walt…"

"Yeah… I realize that," Walt mumbled.

He watched his friend closely. The grey hairs on his temples, the wrinkles, the shadows in the clear eyes that spoke of a darkness no one should ever have to contemplate… John was indeed not the scrawny kid that spent his holidays in Wyoming anymore.

"You okay?" he couldn't help asking.

A small smile lifted a corner of John's lips. He had understood the question wasn't just about their present situation.

"Not really, but I'll be."

"Friends back home to help?"

"Yes, the best you could ask for."

"Then that's good."

They let the silence settle.

"If you need a job, I could always use a good deputy." Walt smiled at him, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere that was sudden weighing on them. "Although I'm not exactly sure how you could put those skills of yours to use with our cowboys… I guess we could have you wrestle a bear from time to time to help you keep your edge."

They spent the day around the house, taking it easy and resting.

John noticed that Walter had pushed the whisky bottle back on the shelf and had only proposed beer or sodas.

"I don't have a problem with alcohol, Walt," he told the man.

"You did tell me you…" Walter's voice trailed. Calling you friend an alcoholic was not an easy task.

"It really was a means to an end. I haven't seen you taking my gun away."

Walt opened his eyes wide. How far down had John gone to consider death so coldly?

"And stop watching me as if I'm going to crumble down. I'm fine, not even cold anymore."

"You are coughing your lungs out though."

"Yeah… Well, freezing water will do that," John answered with a smile, fighting a new bout of cough.

They had grilled steaks for dinner, and Walter had finally brought the whisky bottle out. They were sprawled in front of a raging fire. The alcohol and heat was starting to get tongues lose, and a nice warm filled John's body.

"You never told me how you got me out of the water," John observed.

"You never told us what you've been doing all those years." John shrugged and Walt scolded. "John, we were told you were dead. We even had a memorial ceremony for you!"

John winced. He hadn't thought about that.

"What do you remember about the Cheyenne stories I told you when we were kids?" Henry asked.

"The legends and traditions stuff, you mean?" Henry nodded and John tilted his head slightly. "Most of it I would say…"

"Spirits are an important part of our lives. We actually believe they are around us, to protect us, to warn us. What most people would call _hunches_ are really spirits talking to us."

"You had a 'hunch' that I was in trouble?" John asked. He couldn't bring himself in accepting it but he respected his friend's beliefs.

"Saw a wolf on my parking lot." John raised a surprised eyebrow at the confession. "I have always been convinced that your spirit animal was a wolf…"

And as if to support his statement, a howling broke the silent night. _Creepy_, thought John with a shiver. Even though the rational part of his mind told him that wolves were common in the area and that he actually had heard one on the first night, hearing it _now_ was a bit more than he was ready to accept. He glanced at his glass; maybe the second helping hadn't been a good idea after all…

"A wolf," he mumbled. "Kind of like that…"

"Figured you would," Henry chuckled.

"We try to help people… Not getting to them in time is the worst part of it. But when achieve it, it feels great." He smiled as he remembered big blue innocent eyes above a mouth chewing on an old tie.

"Some sort of security detail?"

"Some would say more like vigilante stuff… Minus the cape thing." Although as far as costumes went, Finch did go into a whole lot of trouble to get him the appropriate suit more often than not.

"Still get to have a side kick?" Henry joked.

John chuckled wondering what Fusco would think of being labelled a sidekick.

"How can you have possibly done something so dark that you feel you don't deserve to live anymore?" Walter asked horrified by the guilt he could see pouring from his friend.

"Lost my soul…"

It became obvious for both Henry and Walt that he wouldn't share more than that. The sheriff sincerely hoped that those friends back in New York somehow knew and helped him deal with it. Such darkness was too much to carry alone. He wished his friend could open up more; he knew he trusted them, that was one of their common traits, talking never came easy. The poker face was so easy to put on…

He'd let him off the hook. Let him just enjoy his stay in Wyoming, relax some before he went back to whatever weird redemption fight he had found to be able to face life.

* * *

Walter and John were sitting on the porch of the house, bear bottle in hand, watching the sun set down over the valley.

"Nice place you've got here."

"Yes, I like it."

"You could finish it though."

"Exactly what I have been telling him for years!" Henry exclaimed as he stepped on the porch. He helped himself to a beer and sat down by their side.

John took a draw from his bottle admiring the riot of colors in the sky, enjoying the silence and quiet. It had been a good idea to come back here.

He needed to leave soon though. A new life as a detective –of all things! the Machine seemed to have a weird sense of humor– was waiting for him in New York. He didn't like being away from Finch for too long. Whatever the Machine said about them hiding, he needed to make sure his former employer was safe. They needed to get back on the field and see how they could defeat Samaritan.

Walt would always be there when he needed a new break. He had almost forgotten there was a place where he belonged…

_The end_

Reviews, pleaaase (Begging much?)


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